This Body Is Full Of Stories

The story muse has arrived and it's now running in overdrive. I hear my characters voices loud and clear. I keep scribbling dialogue, possible plot points, and character and story insights into my tattered notebook. I'm also grappling with the fact that this story that I'm working on is venturing into new, exciting, and scary territory. Basically, this play is not what I thought it was going to be. It's getting a little more darker than I expected, vulnerabilities are being exposed bit by bit, and the story's richness is coming into being.

Another thing is happening that has rocked my world -- it has come to my attention that my body wants me, no needs me to get this story out! I usually take a nap before writing on weekdays, which means I'm dragging myself out of bed by sheer will and stumbling to my laptop. Earlier this week, I woke up from my nap earlier than planned and while I laid in bed, my body, especially my back, swelled with stress. The feeling confused me because I had earlier exercised and even ate my vegetables, thereby doing everything I could to get my body in a relaxed state. As I laid in my bed with my back aching, my innervoice started issuing commands; get up and go for a short walk, come back home to write, and feel better. I followed the commands and literally as I was writing my body seemed to be relaxing. I ended the writing session feeling pretty amazing and it struck me that my body is full of stories that are desperate to be released on the page.

This isn't a major surprise to me because if I'm being truthfully and vulnerable then I can admit that the last decade of repressing my artistic desires was killing me. I was mad at the world because everyone else seem to be doing or trying to do work that they were passionate about but I couldn't because I'm not thin or no one of esteem had ever affirmed my creative writing talent. I know none of those reasons actually make sense but I couldn't dislodge them from my head for decades until I entered therapy a few years ago. Therapy helped me to save my own life because I finally had the ear of a neutral person with no agenda helping me navigate my mind. I've spent a lot of time examining my thoughts and beliefs and figuring out what is garbage and needs to be thrown out, what is of useful and maybe needs to be modified through my own lens, and discovering my own truths and codes of living.

One of my biggest lessons from therapy was learning to fully embrace adulthood and owning my power, which meant I could make different choices. I didn't have to react to situations as if I was a kid who had little to no agency in my life. I am a grown woman and I can utilizing my power and make decisions that are best for grown ass Chinita. This mindset led me to co-conceive and co-produce my first play with two fellow theatre artists. This mindset is why I'm on my third draft of my play. I went from telling myself for years and years that I wasn't worthy enough to pursue my artistic urges to grabbing the playwright crown and putting it on my head despite a wobbly fit. Now I live my creative life out loud and have realized my body is full of stories or at least four very interesting ones that I MUST write and ensure that they are produced on a stage and published as part of the archive of Black women artists.